


A Friend Is a Friend Is a...

by Enedda



Series: A Study in Marcus [5]
Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff (maybe?), M/M, reading together (almost)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 10:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14590890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enedda/pseuds/Enedda
Summary: Just a little scene I had in my head for a long time.





	A Friend Is a Friend Is a...

Tomas put the book back on the pile on the table and lowered his head, lost in thoughts. The work of an exorcist was an interesting one, for sure, but the sheer amount of needed research was overwhelming. For him, at least. Marcus loved his books as much as he loved drawing.  
As much as he loved God.

Overwhelming. That was a good word. Marcus was... a lot. Being him must have meant being all over the place, all the time. At the moment he was still, immersed in his lecture. Smiling to himself the small smile he used only in rare moments of silence.

The book was a mystery. Tomas saw the cover and the title, of course - another publication on the rite of exorcism from Vatican City, in Italian. As far as he knew, Marcus didn't speak the language - and more than once he was caught red-handed reading Something He Should Not put in the covers of Something He Should. Like erotica poetry or even Crowley.  
Marcus was just full of surprises. With him, nothing was sure. He could just get up and go this very moment and return with flowers after two weeks.  
Wouldn't be the first time.

He was like a slender, semi-feral cat with stunning blue-not blue eyes that happen so rarely that you tell about them in stories. His hair was always scruffy, not straight, not curly, not ginger, not blond.  
Light. He was like a light.

Not the light of a warm summer afternoon, more like the one you could see during a still cold spring morning with a promise of something better in the end. Tomas smiled to himself. He was turning into his friend with all that poetry and ever-present introspection.  
Here's hoping for a more stable emotional state. Marcus cried as often as a toddler.

Was he ever a child? Tomas knew Marcus' story, of course, but for him, he was born old. Too late for innocence.  
Marcus grew like a weed. Not wanted, but strong. Not beautiful in any ordinary sense, yet stunning. Like he was now, with furrowed brows, looking into the distance, thinking. Just a guy and just... not. He was a story waiting to unfold. Tomas could bet he looked the same when he was ten, not even minus the scars visible under his black bracelet.  
Under all this black there was a vast river of knowledge and compassion, running pure love.

"Something something daft,"

"Daft?" Tomas woke up with a start. Marcus was grinning.

"Wow, you ARE lost. And you look DAFT," he repeated. "Daft. Meaning silly. Are you tired?"

All Marcus. Tease and care in one long-limbed, freckled package.

"No, are you?"

"A bit, to be honest," he looked at the clock and got up. "I think I'll pop the kettle then."


End file.
